The Well of Shades (28 page)

I
NEED TO
put something to you, Eile,” said Conor, his expression serious.

“What is it?” Eile asked, knowing it must be something to do with laws and offenses and punishment. Yesterday, the day they’d brought Faolan back home, had been the wrong time to speak of such matters. She’d seen Faolan kneel in Áine’s hall, tears flooding his cheeks as his
father laid a hand on his head in blessing. She’d seen Áine’s frozen features and heard the cold rage in the Widow’s voice as she ordered the lot of them from her house. She’d seen Líobhan fold her brother in her arms, welcoming him like a lost child found again, to the accompaniment of Phadraig’s volley of excited questions. Today the other sister had come, the one who was a nun, and they were all
gathered together in the chamber that had once been a place of death and was now a haven of love and family. All except Eile and the brithem. He had called her to a smaller chamber, where a table held writing materials and the walls were fitted with shelves full of scrolls; it seemed to Eile a magical domain, rich in possibilities. To be able to read and write must be wondrous. To set down tales;
to interpret maps
of exotic places; to hold in your hands the very words of the ancients…“Tell me,” she said.

“The law is clear on the matter of unlawful killing,” said Conor. There was compassion in the gray eyes; Eile shivered, wondering if he was about to tell her he had no choice but to hand her over to the folk from Cloud Hill. “I discussed your case with Faolan last night,” the brithem
went on. “It kept us up very late. Most folk would agree that there were strong mitigating circumstances. Unfortunately, those make no difference to the law’s perception of this as wrongdoing. You did not act in self-defense. You planned the deed, executed it, and fled. The kinsmen of the dead man are entitled to apprehend you and to keep you in custody indefinitely and, as you are without resources,
it is possible a far graver penalty could be imposed.”

Eile waited.

“A penalty of death,” Conor said. “It’s not likely, but I do need to make you aware of it. Faolan told me you would want the full truth.”

Eile nodded, feeling a sense of distance, as if the whole world had retreated and she was all alone in a little space of her own where nobody could really see her. “Saraid,” she whispered.
“What would happen to Saraid?”

“We need not look so far ahead,” said the brithem. “Tell me, have you any blood kin besides your aunt? Did your mother have brothers?”

She shook her head. “Mother never spoke of any family.”

“You’re certain? I ask because there is such a thing as
éraic
, the body-fine, a sum payable for unlawful killing. What you need, Eile, is wealthy kinsmen. From what Faolan
has told me, I think your aunt would be willing to accept the
éraic
payment in lieu of seeing you incarcerated or executed. You are young; you have your child to raise. The circumstances of your action were such that it seems clear you are no threat to the community.”

Her heart was beating again; the fog was clearing
from her head. “How much is this
éraic?”
she asked. Hope. You had to hold on
to hope.

Conor named a sum so large that she couldn’t get her head around it. Perhaps she gaped; in any event, the brithem said, “It would not be beyond a man of status to raise such a sum. It would provide security for your aunt for a good many years; allow her to re-establish herself. She must agree to it, I believe.”

“I have no silver and I have no kinsmen,” Eile said. “Me and Saraid, we’re
on our own.”

The brithem nodded. “I have something further to tell you,” he said. “Before I do, I must explain to you that, once a person pays the
éraic
on behalf of a killer, the latter enters what is called debt-bondage to the payer. He or she is required to remain in the ransomer’s service until such time as he can buy himself out by paying the sum in question. Of course, if family members
pay the
éraic
, it’s relatively simple. But if a person who is not a kinsman of the offender should choose to pay the body-fine, for whatever reason, the expectation is that he takes control of the debtor’s person and possessions until paid out. I need to be sure you understand this, Eile.”

“Why?” she asked blankly, as the chamber began to recede again, leaving her alone on a little island, apart
from the rest of the world. There were shadows all around. She would not shed tears. “Nobody would ever pay that for me, it’s enough money to… to buy a castle. The law’s unjust. This means rich people can go free and poor people can’t. I…”

“What is it, Eile?”

“How… how would they do it? Execute me, I mean? What do they…?”

Conor’s hands came across the table and fastened around hers. “Eile,”
he said, “Faolan has said he’ll pay the
éraic
for you.”

“What?” That couldn’t be right.

“Faolan has sufficient funds to pay it, and he will, if you agree. He wasn’t sure how you’d feel about it. If you’re prepared to consider his offer, he’ll talk to you about what it would mean.”

“Faolan has that much silver?” Eile had begun to shake. “Where? How?”

“You can ask him. The silver went to Blackthorn
Rise with him, and it came out with him. My son has learned some surprising skills in the years since he left home.”

“I don’t like the idea of being some kind of slave.”

“He predicted that would be your response. You must at least consider the offer. Indeed, you should make a decision as quickly as you are able.”

“Make a decision?” Eile stared at him. “I may be a bit stubborn sometimes, but
I’m not pigheaded enough to choose death or imprisonment just because I don’t want to be beholden to anyone. I’ve got my daughter to think of. Of course I’ll accept. But I need to talk to Faolan. I need to make it clear—” She stopped herself. She wouldn’t be laying down any rules. Once he paid this fabulous sum, he would own her.

“Very well.” Conor smiled, and it seemed to Eile the smile was
as much sad as happy. “I’ll fetch him.”

“Don’t interrupt them now.” The family had so much ground to make up, mourning those lost, celebrating survival, exchanging ten years’ news; she had no part in that and did not want to get in the way. Her head was still reeling. At the same time, she knew a great weight had fallen from her shoulders. They’d be safe. Saraid would be safe. As for herself,
maybe she’d never have the little house of the dream, but that was a selfish wish, anyway, one she didn’t deserve to have granted. If she had to work her fingers to the bone to pay Faolan back, she’d do it.

She went to find Saraid. The weather was dry today. The gray dog and Líobhan’s hound were both sunning themselves in a corner of the courtyard and Phadraig and
Saraid were busy setting something
out on a bench. As Eile stepped outside, Saraid ran over to seize her hand.

“You mend Sorry now,” she ordered. “Ribbon. Frill. New clothes.”

“Mother’s got all the things ready,” said Phadraig, motioning to the bench. “She made the gown, it’s from an old one of hers. We watched her. But she wouldn’t fix Sorry, she said you’d want to.”

“Fix Sorry now,” said Saraid.

Everything was there, needle
and thread, the promised ribbon and frill, extra cloth that almost matched, and a diminutive rose-pink gown finished with minute neat stitches for Sorry to wear once her two parts were joined together again. It would be a little like putting a queen’s robe on a scarecrow.

“We washed her while you were away,” Phadraig said, “and Mother dried her by the fire. But she still looks a bit dirty.”

“Honorable wounds,” Eile said, smiling. “Now, Phadraig, you pass me the needle, and Saraid, you hold Sorry’s head in place while I get started.”

“Be brave, Sorry,” Saraid whispered. “It won’t hurt much.”

The delicate operation was carried out in near silence, its only interruption the arrival of the dogs to investigate. Phadraig took them off to chase a ball, and Eile slipped the little gown
over Sorry’s head, did up the fastening at the neck, and put the doll in Saraid’s waiting arms.

“You could go and show Phadraig’s mother,” she suggested.

Saraid wavered; pride and shyness fought a small battle in her eyes.

“Phadraig will take you in.” Eile could see Faolan coming across the yard. He was in clean clothing, gray wool trousers, a blue shirt somewhat too big for him, a tunic over
the top. He’d shaved off the dark beard acquired in captivity, and Eile observed his unhealthy pallor and a shadowy look around the eyes. Coming home,
she thought, was not all hugs and smiles and happy endings. And now he was going to be poor as well, all because of some promise to her father. He was probably cursing the day he met Deord.

“Take this basket with your mother’s sewing things, Phadraig.
It was very kind of her to lend them, and to wait for me to do the mending.”

Phadraig touched the row of stitching around Sorry’s neck, peering close. “It’s
quite
good,” he said. “Come on, Saraid.”

They were gone. Faolan sat down on the bench beside Eile, stretching out his legs. “Father told me he’s explained the body-fine to you, and that you’ve agreed to let me do it,” he said, not meeting
her eye.

“I could hardly not agree.” There was a constraint between them; this was their first conversation alone since before Blackthorn Rise. During the time apart, Eile had come to think of him as a friend; the closest thing she had to family. Now she was uncomfortably aware that he was almost a stranger. “Your father said that unless this bond is paid, Anda could ask for my death. I’ve got
Saraid to consider.”

Faolan nodded.

“I mean,” Eile blundered on, “I don’t want her growing up as a sort of slave, but at least she’ll be with me. I love her. Nobody else cares about her. This will keep her safe. I suppose. I don’t really know what it means, only that I’m not going to be locked up, and I’m not going to die before she grows up.”

Faolan smiled. Like his father’s, his smile looked
sad.

“I’m sorry,” Eile said. “I forgot to say thank you. You’ve saved my life. I can’t imagine why you would hand over so much silver on my behalf. Being Father’s friend doesn’t bind you to impoverish yourself because of me. I’m nothing. I’m not really worth it.”

“Isn’t Saraid worth it?” He was looking at her now; she had no idea at all what he was thinking.

“To me, of course she is. She’s
the most precious thing
in the world. I’d die for her. But I’m her mother; of course I think that. You’re not even blood kin.”

He looked down at his hands. “Eile,” he said, “I’ve no intention of keeping you as a slave. The very idea makes my skin crawl. I’m just paying the
éraic
, that’s all. Can you really not understand why I’m doing that?”

She shook her head. “I know you believe you owe Father
something. But this… It’s too much, surely.”

“You’re asking me to retract the offer?” His brows lifted; for a moment he looked like his old self.

“What do you think?” she retorted.

“I think you’re too wise for that. Eile, your father saved my life at the expense of his own. That, on top of the natural bond between Breakstone men, would be sufficient to oblige me to do this for you. But in fact
that is not the only reason for my offer. You seem to have forgotten yesterday. It was your shout that saved my life, not to speak of your plan to gain admittance to Blackthorn Rise. I’m deeply in your debt. I’m happy to have this opportunity to repay that.”

Eile was confused. “Saved your life? Me? You mean your sister was going to kill you?”

“I don’t know what Áine planned or what she plans
now. Her mind runs on paths incomprehensible to ordinary folk.”

“Ordinary? None of your family is ordinary.” Eile thought of lovely, giving Líobhan and her quiet, strong husband; inquisitive, kind Phadraig; honorable Conor and the grave, good old man. And Faolan, the man who had got himself captured and locked up trying to help a blood-soaked fugitive most folk would have shrunk from. “If anyone
saved your life it was your father. He talked us out of there.”

“Father doesn’t know the full story.” Faolan was avoiding her gaze again, staring at the ground by his boots. His voice had gone quiet.

“What story?”

“As I told you all last night, Áine waited fifty days before
she saw me. I’m used to captivity. I know all the tricks for keeping fit and staying sane, and I used them. Then she called
me to her hall and… and I discovered not just who the Widow was but how deeply she still loathes me for what I did. She can’t forgive me for failing to rescue her that night.”

“I understand that part. What was it you couldn’t tell your father?”

“Before she sent me back to the cell, Áine uttered some terrible lies; all too believable lies, for I had been seeing my family in my dreams for ten
years, Eile. I had seen what might have become of them. She painted me a picture far crueler than the truth. By the time I got back to my solitary chamber, I believed I had destroyed all of them in one way or another: my mother dead—the only truth—my sisters bitter and sorrowful, my grandfather deathly sick and my father…”